The Adventures Of Eugene And Edward
by NowWeOwnTheNight
Summary: CRACKfic] "THAT'S… THAT IS FUCKING MOSCOW!" Eugene sighed, rolled his eyes when Ed turned to him with a terrified expressions. They had been through this in the past- only, last time it was Hitler's headquarters. Time before that, Atlantis. Maybe it'd be better if the idjit just fell out of the plane. "NO! I'M NOT FALLING FOR THAT AGAIN! SIT THE FUCK DOWN!"
1. Eugene and the Russian Zombies

1:

"Gahhh! I'm BOOOORED!"

"Ed, we're about to jump out of a plane!" Eugene shouted as absently as one can over the top of a roaring wind, checking over his gear again. He didn't even bother to look over at Edward Heffron, knowing that the man would be sprawled out over his seat, staring at the celling, waiting impatiently for the red light to flick over to green. He had been like this for the past four practice drops; and if there was one thing that Ed wasn't, it was inconsistent. A quick glance out of the doorway was enough to flood butterflies in his stomach. Dropping out of a plane, relying on a parachute that may or may not work, carrying twice his weight of gear, into a potentially bullet-filled atmosphere… well. It was a pretty hard circumstance to call anything _but_ tedious. "How can you be bored?!"

"We've been flying for AGES! We must be the last ones up!" Not even clipped up to the rope like he should be, Edward walked to the open door and leant out into the whipping wind. He didn't get the chance to warn his idiot friend to back away from the opening; a loud, concerning curse stood out above the grumbling of the aircraft. "SHIT!" Although the medic was used to his friend swearing, the tone he was using was different to usual exclamations. Still. He was a born joker, with no viable to stop when asked thanks to his absolute disregard for signs of discomfort. No matter how many times Eugene warned him to not disturb while reading, or to slap him in the face, or to go through his stuff without a valid reason… it still happened. That is, until they joined the Army; he had no time for reading, no place for personal belongings, acclimated to kidding around for tension release. A common way Edward pranked Eugene was to fake distress- it was a weakness, Gene being the guy who would have to dodge minefields and mortars at the first scream of 'medic!'. Edward being the person yelling made it harder to ignore.

"WHAT?"

"THAT'S… THAT IS FUCKING MOSCOW!"

Eugene sighed, rolled his eyes when Ed turned to him with a terrified expressions. They had been through this in the past- only, last time it was Hitler's headquarters. Time before that, Atlantis.

Maybe it'd be better if the idjit just fell _out_ of the plane.

"NO! I'M NOT FALLING FOR THAT AGAIN! SIT THE FUCK DOWN!"

"I'M SERIOUS! COME LOOK!"

"No, you know what?! How about I go ask the pilot!" Caught in the act- you can't dispute the pilot's word. Unless the pilot was dead. Which he wasn't, obviously, or… who else could be flying the plane? Edward watched his friend stalk to the front of plane, freeze and spin on his heels in stony silence, and run back to his side with a pale face.

"THEY'RE DEAD, ARENT THEY?"

"SO, MOSCOW, YOU SAY?!" He tried to distract Edward from going to the cockpit but the shorter soldier was too quick.

"I'LL PUT ON THE GREEN LIGHT. THAT WAY SOBEL CAN'T BE PISSED AT OUR JUMP NOT FOLLOWING PROPER PROCEDURE."

"WE'RE ABOUT TO DROP INTO MOSCOW, ED!" Heffron didn't hear; he was too busy trying to reach across the dead bodies so he could hit the switch. His hooked on the ankle of the man slumped over the wheel, and once the green light was on, he went to push Eugene out of the plane. "I'M SURE THE WAY WE GET OUT OF THE PLANE WILL BE THE LAST THING ON HERBET'S MIND- WOAH FUCK!" The unsettled dead pilot had been leant onto the gear that sent the plane twirling into a nosedive. Eugene knew they had to get out, and fast, or else the plane would pass a speed that wouldn't allow them to throw themselves off. And survive. "GO, GO, GO!"

With two feet safely on the ground, both Eugene and Edward had lost their packs on the way down. The dark haired man had a glare positively murderous leveled at his friend. For all the world, the ginger was more than ecstatic to have landed in a foreign country- an ocean and a continent away from home.

* * *

"Alright! Russia! We made it!" Half a kilometer from the landing, the plane had crashed in a big fiery mess. They were stranded, in Russia, with no provisions, and war breaking out. No foreseeable route to America other than boat, trekking, swimming, and god knows what else. "WOOO!"

How could things possibly get worse?

"Yay!" Eugene cheered sarcastically.

In the time it took for him to glance at their surroundings, Edward was trailing behind a woman; flirting. _Flirting_, of all things. "Hey guuurl, what'cha doin'?" He had no idea what a woman would be doing in a gigantic chain-link enclosed paddock. It must be something to do with all the other people, tramping around in ragged clothing without apparent aim. They seemed to be feeling their way with arms stretched in front of them- even though the landscape within the confinement of the fence was flat and empty.

They were not trapped, Eugene told himself, they were just on an… and adventure? Yes, like the ones they'd had as little boys in the backyard, fighting monsters and riding dragons and whatever the fuck else- who was he kidding. They were on the other side of the world at the assend of nowhere, this was _not_ an adventure. Sobel would be shouting at the men right now, believing that they'd slept in or left the Army or got lost playing hide and seek. The rest of Easy were probably suffering. They had to get back as fast as they could. "We're not even supposed to be here. We should be in Taccoa eating orange spaghetti and running Currahee 'till we throw up… how do we get out of here?" He was paid no attention, Edward having apparently just handed the unresponsive lady his address and a wink, and a 'mail me some time, baby'. A whiff of her breath reeked of out-of-date meat and compost; deterring Edward. Minutely. "Woah! Someone doesn't use mouth wash…" A few hacking coughs, splutters, and then that undefeatable smile wormed to the surface. "…No offence. You're hot." Her head was lolled to the side, she was groaning and shuffling through the dead grass, oblivious to Edward's advances.

Come to think of it, all the people in this place were alike in that way. They hadn't glanced twice, heck, they hadn't even looked once at the two newcomers falling from the sky.

"Ed… we should leave. Now. Come on, time to go home." For a second Eugene was worried that Edward would be dismissive- and would end on him being dragged out by the ear- but thankfully the soldier started towards the nearest edge of the paddock.

"Sure. Let's find a way to get to England, yeah? These locals are so hard to get!" Edward complained. At least he was laughing slightly… because Eugene really didn't want to go trekking through Soviet Russia with a whiney Edward. Sparing one glance back, Eugene felt relief wash over him. All the people had started to follow them at their calm, snail's pace. "Where are my fucking wire-cutters?"

"We're going on an adventure!"

"Shut up and hand me your wire cutters!"

* * *

"WHERE THE GOD DAMNED HELL HAVE YOU TWO BEEN FOR THE PAST MONTH?! YOU'VE BEEN MISSING SINCE THE LAST AIR DROP!"

"No excuse, sir-"

"In Russia, SIR!"

"RUSSIA? WHAT IN GODS NAME POSSESSED YOU TO GO THERE, PRIVATE?" Even a drunken Nixon could tell that Sobel wasn't asking for an explanation. He was very possibly being a facetious little shit, and before he could give the two punishment, Edward cut him off and launched into the month or so that Eugene had hoped to never relive.

As Edward finished up relayed the adventure somewhere around catching the train filled with Krauts, biking through a barrage of British mortars, and a sneak onto a boat filled with Frenchmen, Edward smiled at Eugene, who was resolutely not looking at his best friend. He was sure that he could have explained their trip in a way that didn't sound like some alcohol-induced hallucination (or he could have just not said anything, and avoid humiliation and a more severe punishment from Sobel than they were already doomed to get).

And if Eugene was starting to hope that the whole ordeal was one, for sanities sake, Ed didn't need to know that.

The rest of the company were standing at the feet of their beds, desperately trying to hold back their laughter- Winters had to leave the room before he exploded into cackles. Sobel fixed them both with glares and whirled out of the door post-haste. Edward ran after him. "YOU HAVE TO BELIEVE ME, SIR! IT'S TRUE! ASK EUGENE!"

"LATRINE DUTY, BOTH OF YOU. UNTIL WE LEAVE AMERICA. ON A BOAT. IN THE GOD DAMNED ATLANTIC _OCEAN_."

"Sir!"

Down the row of huts, Winters could be heard pissing himself with laughter during the retell of Ed's story to Nixon. Edward trudged back into the hut he was sharing with Roe, Muck, Luz, Bull, and Garnier. He approached his friend, going in for a hug. They had been through so much together, and it hurt that nobody took his word for it.

So he was shocked when a hand thwacked him hard on the back of the head, and the medic's shoulder roughly shoved him into the nearest footlocker as he stormed past.

"Gene, I-"

"I fucking hate you!" The door blew shut behind him, and his raging continued as he walked away from the cabin. "Fucking latrines. You couldn't have just been normal for once in your life, could you!?"

"Love you too!"

"FUCK YOU!"


	2. Eugene and Winter's Birthday

A/N: Still don't know where this is going. UWU

* * *

2:

"MUCK! CAN YOU COVER FOR US-"

"WAITWAITwait!" In Aldborne, England, Edward wanted to ring Dick on the telephone to wish him a happy birthday. Eugene pointed out that Winter's host family was only a few blocks away, but the nearest working phone was several. Or twenty. Living in the one and only Herbet Sobel's office.

It was ridiculous.

"If I don't write this letter to Winters for his birthday, you're going to risk Sobel's office to call him?"

"Yep!"

"You think that a punishment from fucking Sobel is worth more than Winters laughing at your shit-ass grammar."

"Ostensibly."

"What word doesn't work there-"

"MUCK! COVER!"

"Oh my god, these fireflies are so awesome!"

"Keep moving."

"Here, look! Watch how they-" Eugene let a branch flick back and smack the loud soldier in the face. Why they were creeping through the undergrowth near the mansion that housed the main personnel of the American Army was beyond his grasp- Edward had insisted on this ducking and diving bullshit, traipsing as if they were not heading for likely pain of torture and death.

Edward had also insisted that they creep out near midnight, so on the very first millisecond of the next day, Winters would feel loved.

There were fucking spiders everywhere.

Fur fucks sake.

Luck was on their side, impossibly, as Sobel came grumbling past on his way to the toilets.

Two great big doors and nine small ones later, not to mention all the wrong turns, Edward and his unwilling accomplice found themselves at the phone; safe behind the locked office door. He was certain they had tracked muddy boot prints to point out exactly where they were headed, and how spasmodically odd their path was, but pointing this out to Edward would be moot.

"Alright, let's just call Dick and get out of here-"

"Oh, I'm so stupid!"

"You don't say."

"No, really! Winters host family household doesn't have a phone!"

"Call Nixon."

"What? Why?"

"Just do it." He would have said 'trust me', but their relationship was intrinsically built on it. It goes without saying when you're that close. Edward flicked on the desk lamp, just in case he didn't get the right number. Major Horton's phone was one numeral different… even though he was on leave in London. With a chuckle, in remembrance of Sobel's atrocious orienteering abilities, he dialed Nixon.

The speaker on the other end was certainly not Nixon. In fact, it was precisely the person Edward was looking for.

"Oh G- God, Lew... god, f-faster!"

Eugene tamped down the flush that was furiously trying to spread across his face, caught between wanting to laugh and to hang the phone up. Edward did neither- rather, he just turned to Eugene and pointed to the phone: emitting rough pants and a few groans, undertoned by the rhythmic creaking of wood. Ed's childish smile pulled a painful grin from him, dreading yet anticipating the moment that the airhead realized just what was going on. _He mustn't know what Nixon's first name is_, he thought.

"Hey, it IS Winters! You were right, Gene!" There was a lull in the movement on the other side as- and Eugene was only guessing here- Winters checked the windows to see if they were closed. Then, the next place he would check should be…

"Wait, stop, stop! Nix… Is that…" There was a ruffle, a disapproving groan, and then Winters voice, mouth a little too close to the microphone, in total disbelief. "Babe?!"

"Haaaaappy birthday, Dick!" Edward crowed proudly, his beaming lighting up the room more than Sobel's shitty lamp ever could. Or maybe Eugene was slightly over-fond. Just a little. Less. Than infinitely. Eugene was too content with letting Edward grin in his own fantasy of 'I am doing something right and nice and not selfish and for another human being for once in my life' to point out that A] it wasn't Winter's birthday at all, and B] he had just interrupted Winters- otherwise 'engaged' with Nixon. Winter's response resonated confusion, uncertainty, and a dash of infuriation.

"It's not my birthday…"

"Oh, yeah… riiiight… when is your birthday again?"

"In four months…" The new piece of information, one which presented their entire quest to be a pointless exertion of energy and a waste of a night, didn't even put off Edward. Eugene mashed his head against the palm of his hand, hoping to relieve some of the _stupid_ that his friend was radiating.

"Ahahaha! In four months! Ok. So what are you doing?"

"Me." A gravely, rough voice that the microphone just managed to pick up sent Edward in a coughing fit. Eugene simply smirked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively at his gagging friend.

"Nixon?! What are you- oh, OH NO-"

"Goodnight, Babe. Eugene."

"Sir." They hung up, still shell-shocked. Another silence settled, Eugene watching the cogs turn in his partner-in-attempted-crime's head with amusement… Until a loud banging of the front doors startled the pair. Sobel must have seen the light in the window. And the prints in the carpet. Time to get the hell out of there.

"So it's not his birthday."

"Yup." Stairs creaked and a single person's footsteps thudded up them. Three flights of steps. Twelve steps per flight: fifteen thumps. He was moving quickly.

"And we're in locked in Sobel's office." Outside, a key started jangling as it was fitted into the lock.

"Hehe, yeah." Oblivious. So stupidly, adorably, infuriatingly blind to the world. How the fuck did this man get into the 506? It was a wonder to behold. Eugene joined in with the laughter.

"Ha. Hahahaha… hahahahahAHAHAHAHAHA-"

"WHAT THE GODDAMNED HELL ARE YOU TWO DOING IN HERE?!" Quick as a flash, Eugene bolted for the door. All that evasion tactic training didn't go to waste after all. But Sobel grabbed Edward's arm, gripping the struggling Privates' arm tightly before he could escape. Of course, the captive man had to make a histrionic out of it.

"RUN, GENE! RUN! DON'T LOOK BACK! SAVE YOURSELF!" He howled, Sobel standing stock still, not so much as flinching.

The medic had no qualms in doing so, even when Edward's terrified squeaks of 'no explanation SIR! Please just let me live!' reached his ears as he raced down the stairs and out of the building.


	3. Eugene and Christmas in Bastogne

2:

"GeeeeeEEEEENE."

"Jesus H fuck, keep your voice down! I'm right here."

"Arrgh!" When he provoked nothing from Eugene, and shushes from surrounding soldiers, he tried again at a whisper, "Ahhgh, I'm bored."

"It's Christmas eve. We just got the fuck mortared out of us." When Heffron went on about being 'so so so bored' and not being able to write Santa a letter this year because they had shit-all at the front line and could he borrow a bandage to etch it with scissors, neither of which Eugene owned, he rolled to face the soil wall of the hole and tossed over his shoulder a quick- "I'm going to bed.", to try and shut the man up. Always trying to either impress or follow the example of Eugene, Ed curled up on his considerably larger half of the fox hole; fiddling with the fresh, Eugene-eye colored bandage around his hand. Blue, that was it. The color of the sky. Which no one had seen for what felt like a lifetime. He wondered if Santa could find his way through the clouds. If he would risk coming to the battleground… if he even remembered that the men existed.

"I wonder if Santa will come to Bastogne-"

"Goodnight."

* * *

"Alright… come on, Heffron. You can do this." Edward tossed and turned in the foxhole, careful not to elbow his friend in his squirming search of a comfortable spot. It was the morning of Christmas, and everyone was blissfully quiet. There were no mortars during the night. He wondered if it was because the Germans were scared of hitting Santa as he tried to deliver presents to all the occupied foxholes. Yeah, that was probably it.

Forget Hitler… killing Father Christmas would be the ultimate offence, in Edward's mind. A mind that was racing when all he wanted was peace. "Sleep. Just like you practiced. Every night." Loud snoring in his feigning of slumber barely helped matters. If anything, he felt like he was mocking himself for not being able to sleep. "Ahhh that doesn't work. Think of something boring... Ack! Argh, running. Uncalled for physical training. Currahee. Throwing up spaghetti… Sobel- nope, fuck it." Giving up on sleep, he threw back the snow caked cover of his and Eugene's foxhole. There was absolutely no sound in the crisp morning air. It was dark, foggy as usual, and a slight drift of snow. An idea struck him.

Edward extracted the last bottle of medicinal alcohol. No one was awake to see him make off with it to a certain Lieutenant's dugout.

* * *

By the time he had bartered for a flashlight with his most favorite Lieutenant in the entire world, ninja-d his way through the trees back to the edge of his foxhole, and figured out how to turn on the light, the sun wasn't even close to rising.

"Mission accomplished!"

With that, Edward started an impromptu puppet show- using the fog for a backing. His soft giggles, however, wasn't the sound that woke up Doc Roe. A far away 'phoomph!'of a mortar being shot roused the medic- and his first sight was his mate sitting a small way away, waving a torch in the air like a gigantic COME HITHER FAIR KRAUT signal for the Germans. On Christmas morning, no less. Oh! Right, it was Christmas day! Without warning, Muck and Malarkey dove in with him, bidding him a happy morning excitedly. He called out to Edward, who unknowingly had a mortar flying straight for him. The whistling grew louder and louder, and they foolishly thought it was another joke. "Merry Christmas!- what in the fuck- get in here, you shithead!" Muck leapt out and hauled Edward into the foxhole. The patch of snow he was in became a crater of tangled roots and one utterly ruined flashlight.

"Crap. I promised Nixon I would give that back…"

"SHUT UP AND GET DOWN!" The four men huddled together in the tiny hole in the ground as dirt and splinters flew every which way above their heads.

From somewhere across the spread of American soldiers, they heard Luz screaming- "MERRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS, BABE! HOPE YOU'RE FUCKING HAPPY! YOU LITTLE SHIT!"

Eugene couldn't help but laugh at that.

If Nixon and Winters were unexplainably missing for the better part of the next day, well. You can't blame Edward for not being able to differentiate between alcohol and aphrodisiac, now, can you? Nobody nowhere knew how or why Eugene had the stuff in the first place, but then again no one knew so there wasn't any need to ask. And when he bared Nixon the grave news about his flashlight with honest-to-God tears in his eyes, all he got was a pat on the back and "It's ok. It was worth it, right?"

Winters breezed by to greet the new CO with an "Amen.", sending poor Edward into further guilt; believing the pair were toying with him to get even for the phone call.

* * *

A/N: [Did I mention this was based of the Tobuscus adventures? No? Well.]


End file.
